


Dog Tags

by SuperNova53



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, smut for smut sake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperNova53/pseuds/SuperNova53
Summary: Steve gets home late one night still wearing his dog tags. Tony has a thing.





	Dog Tags

The penthouse sits on the upper levels of Stark Tower overlooking the city, it’s all floor to ceiling glass windows and silk sheets on a king-sized bed. The full moon hangs like high noon in the sky casting silver tendrils into the bedroom where the drapes haven’t been fully closed.

Tony’s managed to leave a trail of his clothing from the front door to the bedroom, dress shoes, pants, jacket, tie, shirt and boxers-somewhere by the foot of the bed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

He’s asleep where he fell splayed out like a starfish on his stomach, covers half kicked off, exhausted after an evening of pretending to be interested in what the high-flying socialites of New York had to say and plastering on a fake smile, sneaking off at any opportunity to message Steve.

Steve would refer to it as obscene filth via an instant message, Tony would just call it risqué banter.

What starts out as a semi-innocent _‘I can’t wait to see you later’_ at 8 pm ends up as _‘You’re not going to be able to move after I’m finished with you tonight’_ by 11 pm. Steve’s not great with phones a flushes crimson at that last one _‘Tony’_ is his response. Fine, two can play that game.

* * *

Steve’s back at the tower some two hours later than he planned, it’s nearly 3 am by the time he lets himself in, the front door comes into contact with one of Tony’s discarded shoes nudging it further into the room.

He sighs somewhere between amusement and affection as he follows the trail of clothing like it’s rose petals leading him to his lover, shedding his own gear as he goes and laying it neatly over his arm in true military style before tossing it onto an armchair.

The bedroom smells faintly of cologne, the closer his proximity to the bed the more it teases his senses luring him in. He can make out Tony’s sleeping form in the scant light spread out and taking up the entire bed. Steve is _just a little_ disappointed he’s asleep as he slips in between the sheets, lifting Tony’s arm and easing himself underneath it; he stirs, mumbling and moves closer to the warm body now occupying his bed, wriggling back underneath the cover; his hand that’s now resting across Steve slowly comes to life.

The movements lazy, soft fingertips trace the hard planes of his bare chest, the slightest hint of fingernails catching on his skin as he maps out Steve’s chiseled midriff before running it back up his sternum. There’s a jingle when his fingers find them, he stops with a half-muffled grunt of intrigue; taking the two oblong pieces of metal that were nestled in the dip of Steve’s well-defined torso in between his thumb and forefinger; his solider is wearing his dog tags.

Steve lays still and _watches_ as any iota of sleep evaporates from his lover in a rush of blood to his groin. Steve never ceases to be impressed at how quickly Tony Stark can go from apathetic to emphatic when there is something that he wants on offer; and tonight, he’s made sure he’s got something Tony wants. Awake and pressing himself against Steve a hand runs over the chain around his neck as he feels something rock solid grind against his thigh.

Tony’s kissing and sucking at the skin behind his ear leaving it damp and alive to the feeling of his deliberate exhale that blows cool air across his hairline, his body arches; an involuntary reflex, a desperate, silent plea for more.

He wraps Tony in his arm, enveloping him in a stacked tricep; the flat of his hand running down the swoop of his back and resting just above the curve of his ass. “You’re naked.” He manages as Tony shifts and kisses along Steve’s jawline, at his pulse points, down his throat, all while he still toys with the dog tags, running up the chain and sliding fingers underneath it, tangling his hands in then tugging.

“I wear clothes _all day_ Steve, I’m not sleeping in them as well.” He mumbles into Steve’s neck dipping his head to suck at the hollow above his collarbone. Steve’s breath hitches as he lets his eyes flutter closed. “ _You_ wear too much to bed,” Tony’s hand is gone from the tags, he leans up on his elbow, fingers sliding underneath the waistband of the last piece of clothing left between them, as if to back up his statement, Steve tingles at the overwhelming sensation of another’s touch on the taut skin just at the base of his cock.

* * *

Tony’s a tease and his errant hand is up and out of Steve’s boxers and sliding back over his body. _“I want you in just these,”_ he whispers into Steve’s mouth sucking at his bottom lip with just the hint of teeth as his fingers brush the tags again. He pulls back, and Steve lets out something close to a whine following Tony’s lips like they’re magnetic. Tony only smirks in the moonlight lifting himself up and slinging a leg over to straddle his bedmate and rest his weight where the thin material of Steve’s boxer briefs is stretched to breaking point.

Tony ruts against him, grinding with his hips as he bends to kiss and lick at Steve’s bare chest; tracing the outline of his muscles with his tongue; every kiss, touch, earning him grunts and groans from the man beneath him who bucks to meet him with each thrust. Steve’s large hands are on his waist, stroking over his back and down his thighs. _“Tony,”_ he says breathy and desperate, as he bears down on him again kissing him; pushing his tongue past teeth and tangling it with Steve’s; his hands have found the tags again.

God, he loves it when Steve wears them. He knows that he does it on purpose, it’s one of the few games Steve will indulge him in. _In public anyway._ He knows it drives Tony wild when he absent-mindedly fiddles with the chain and leaves it visible above the collar of his t-shirt when they’re being debriefed; he catches the glance Steve throws him when he _wants_ him to notice. It sends Tony’s mind straight to the gutter because he knows the way those thin pieces of metal just brush his ass and the inside of his thighs when he’s lying back and being sucked off, the way they heat up and stick to Steve’s chest when he’s sweaty and about to come with Tony pounding into him, the way they rest in between his shoulders when Steve’s behind and kissing along his hairline fucking him on the nearest available surface when they’ve not seen each other for days or when Tony’s in his lap legs wrapped around him anchoring his hand in the chain and pulling at it, making it bite into the back of Steve’s neck when he’s all kisses and tender words bucking them both to ecstasy.

Tony pulls away leaving Steve panting with the beginnings of friction burn on his jawline from his beard. He tosses the covers back exposing them both. The air in the bedroom’s warm but he can feel Steve quiver ever so slightly beneath him, he sits up taking his weight off whilst trailing a finger from his sternum to his stomach watching goosebumps rise in its wake. He taps with the slightest hint of impatience at Steve’s boxers, _“These should already be off.”_ He purrs, voice as silken as the sheets they’re lying on.

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice, he’s sitting up eye level with Tony and bringing him into a bruising kiss, one hand knotted in his hair and the other yanking down his shorts as far as his position will allow, they end up hooked on one ankle before he’s pushed back into the pillows by hands flat on his chest.

 _“I love your body.”_ Tony murmurs against flesh as he takes his sweet time kissing his way down the valleys and ridges of Steve’s frame watching him fist the silk sheets into a crinkled mess out the corner of his eye.

* * *

Steve is tuned into every sound; _every_ drawn-out movement and lingering kiss as Tony works his way down, lower and lower, he can feel him nosing at the soft hairs just below his navel; dextrous hands running down each flank and pushing his thighs apart; the sound of his own breath rasping, the slight pop and suck when Tony’s lips draw back from his skin; it’s overwhelming. Tony’s moving at an excruciatingly slow pace; ignoring Steve’s cock that’s pulsing and _demanding_ attention.

Steve is lost; somewhere between wanting to grab the back of Tony’s head, telling him to make good on his promise from earlier, or just lying there and letting Tony take him on his terms. He grits his teeth, hands flat against the gratuitous silk of the sheets as his body flinches …

Tony’s slick lips are sliding down his shaft and Steve’s groaning, barely registering it’s himself making such an indecent noise; the bed creaks under his weight as he arches his back to stop his hips thrusting forward and fucking Tony’s mouth. His tongue feels like it everywhere swirling over his glands before sliding down claiming every inch of his unrestrained erection.

Steve surrenders to the feeling, his hands aren’t his own anymore, acting on muscle memory, one laces in Tony’s hair the other’s weak and useless, he’d go limp if his body would let him, just lay there and do nothing but feel Tony groaning and how it’s vibrating through his balls and how he’s bumping his head on the back of his throat; the combination makes him rasp and mutter breathlessly _how good it feels, how he can do that all night, how much he loves it._

He knows it’s a power exchange; Tony Stark loves the fact that he can reduce Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America, AKA THE Super Solider, to putty in his hands with a few well-placed sweeps of his articulate tongue, hell he wouldn’t put it past Tony to put it on his resume, and damn if right now Steve isn’t completely OK with all of it, encouraging it even – after all he was the one who wore his tags… He doesn’t even try and stop his hips from bucking when Tony works a hand under his balls.

* * *

Tony’s reading Steve through his mouth, every twitching muscle and _every_ involuntary tremor he’s eliciting from him.

He picks his moment to pull away - when Steve’s breathing become a staccato rhythm and he’s struggling to speak. Tony’s timing is always impeccable and he’s left Steve with a throbbing erection, slick with his saliva that’s no longer cradled in the warmth of his throat, but instead exposed to the ever-so-slight-barely-noticeable-if-you-weren’t-naked-and-horny breeze in the bedroom. “ _Tony,_ what the… _you stopped.”_ If he didn’t know better, it sounded like Steve was pouting.

“At ease _Solider,_ ” He goads pressing his palm to Steve’s sac that’s tight with pressure against his body; he arcs away from Tony’s touch his hands flying up to rake through his sweat-dampened blond hair as he bites his lip.

Tony crawls back up, ghosting his lips and hands over Steve’s pliant body, letting his cock brush against his thighs and rest on his stomach. _“Not until I’ve had my fun.”_ He breaths against Steve’s throat watching him swallow and do something close to a nod. Tony shifts hovering over him whilst reaching for something in the nightstand; he’s relying on touch to find the small bottle that’s in there and Steve running his big hands _everywhere_ isn’t helping his balance; he falters when they slide up his thighs and he’s chest to chest with his lover. The small sliver of iris that’s visible against his dilated pupils is an incandescent blue in the moonlight. “I found it.” He says breathless holding up the bottle and flushing with heat, feeling foolish that all it takes is looking into Steve’s eyes to make him swoon and _literally_ take his breath away. He goes still, locked in that bright blue gaze as Steve’s arms wrap around his ribcage holding him where he is. “Steve … I …” the kiss steals the words he didn’t say, and Tony Stark, _The Futurist_ gets drawn into the present, he’s not thinking what should happen next, the only thing that meant anything _right now_ was the soft feeling of Steve’s lips on his and the warmth that radiated from the much larger body still pinned beneath him. It didn’t matter that straddling somebody Steve’s size was awkward; or that he was still holding a bottle of lube in one hand; or that Steve was clutching him so tightly that the arc reactor was probably digging into him. Tony rests his forehead on Steve’s when they finally break apart. “Tony, I lo- “

“Shh.” _Don’t say it Steve_. Tony scoots back, glad of the cover of darkness, he’s sure he’s blushed the same color as the latest paint job on the Iron Man suit.

The bottle gives a snort when he coats his fingers; it’s the only noise aside from two ragged sets of breathing; Tony tosses it aside, it bounces into the drapes making them flutter and throws moonlight across Steve’s body, casting him in a perfect luster, so perfect he could have been carved from stone. It’s glinting off his tags that have stuck to the gloss of sweat that’s beading on his chest, it catches him off guard and he freezes, eyes raking for longer than they should “Tony, _touch me… please._ ” How chivalrous of Steve to remember his manners when asking for something so debauched. It’s the only encouragement he needs; he’s so hard that he can feel his pulse in his swollen cock.

“Why do you have to be so perfect.” His voice has lost its silken flow and turned to a throaty rasp of lust, he growls in approval when tight walls clench around his finger; which quickly becomes two.

He curls, searching with the pads of each digit for the spot that’s going to make Steve jolt, and Tony’s reward when he finds it? Steve lets out a noise _so indecently loud_ he’s pretty sure that if the penthouse had neighbors, they would need a cigarette about now. He’s glad they don’t have neighbors, Tony doesn’t want anyone to hear the Steve that curses like it’s the only vocabulary he knows, who begs and pleads – that’s a side of Steve Rogers reserved for only him.

Steve pushes down to meet him and Tony loses any scrap of self-restraint. He rips his fingers away wiping what’s left of the (by now) body temperature lube across his stomach. _“Up Solider.”_ He orders ruff and breathless, stroking himself with his hand.

* * *

Steve rolls over; every muscle is tenses, and movement is awkward when you’re this hard; Tony’s brought him to the brink _twice_ now and left him leaking all over himself. He manages to get up on all fours vaguely aware of Tony planting his hands on either hip, apparently, he’s done with the gentle caresses and kisses. He doesn’t have time to brace himself on arms that were already shaking before Tony’s in. _“Fuck.”_

“I was planning to." Tony’s voice is strained, and he thrusts making Steve grab the headboard for support.

It feels tight and slick and _mind-blowing._ There’s a hand splayed on the small of his back, Tony’s steadying himself and Steve notices for the first time how his breath is grating, and he feels a twinge of selfishness in his chest because all he’s done tonight it take; he quickly forgets all of it when Tony adjusts his angle. Steve tosses his head back and gasps, tries to speak against the sound of two bodies slapping against each other, the jangle of his tags and the repetitive creak of the bed. _“Tony, I’m …”_ he doesn’t manage the rest before he comes; waves of white-hot pleasure rip through him, blowing his mind and his load all over the silk sheets; his body starts to go slack and he's still reeling; still groaning like a whore and Tony’s _still going;_ he feels arms wrap his waist holding him up, _just;_ sloppy kisses and the sudden shock of cold of the arc reactor pressed against his too sensitive skin on his back. It makes him twitch and moan, he can’t think straight enough to decide whether it was a moan of pleasure or protest.

Tony falls out of rhythm; squeezes him a bit too tight around his waist. He buries himself deep and comes with a rough shout, but still doesn’t stop, he wrings the feeling dry. Steve is still pulsing, still full of Tony all he wants to do is collapse.

* * *

Tony goes limp and pulls away, moving back to sit and wipe his hair out of his face. He hears Steve whimper before he watches him roll sideways. “I-told-you-” He smirks still winded and catching his breath as he crawls up the bed. “You wouldn’t be able to move once I was finished.”

“Uhh…” Steve’s face is a picture, flushed and looking absolutely serene as he tries to piece a coherent sentence together. He gestures with a useless hand. “Don’t… don’t go over that side of the bed.” Tony slots behind him.

“You’re an animal Steve, _Super Soldiers_ make a _super_ mess.”

“Ur-hur…” Steve cuts off with a yawn and pulls Tony’s arm across his chest.

“So, we’re sleeping in this then?” Tony ask against the back of Steve’s neck with a hint of amusement. Steve answers with a deep sigh and a barely lucid sentence. Tony’s pretty sure he heard something about them both sleeping in worse. He stretches and yawns suddenly too sleepy to care himself. “You’re gross Steve.” He mutters, he doesn’t get an answer this time just the peaceful intake and exhale of breath from his lover.

“G'night Steve… I love you.” _It wasn’t that hard to say._


End file.
